The one word reply caught the young fire starter off guard. The old ember chuckled.
“It’s really pretty simple. Fire requires fuel. Some pyromancers fuel it with their raw pool of magic. Bad idea. Incredibly difficult to control as opening the valve just a liiiitle too far will let the fire burn inwards, lighting up the whole lake at once. Too easy to loose control. And even if you do keep a stranglehold on your mana output, only the thinnest stream will be safe enough to handle. Hardly enough to warm a cup of tea.”
The pyromancers each took a long drink from their cups. It was surprisingly sweet.
“Anger. That’s what almost every pyromancer uses as fuel. Rage can be provoked! Stoked! And for the wise, even used responsibly! But there is an intrinsic issue to using wrath as your fuel.”
“Let me guess: ‘their anger will consume them from the inside out, leaving nothing but ashen, emotionless husk’?”
The fire starter gave them serious side eye but waited for the full explanation.
“The fuel you feed a fire effects how it will burn. Rage fire burns low and flares violently. Best used in combat or for destruction. I freely admit there is no greater force upon the battlefield than an enraged pyromancer.
And that my child, is the killer in plain sight.
War is lethal. And pyromancers are devastatingly lethal. So much so that any general with half a brain will dedicate a not inconsiderable amount of resources to killing them as fast as possible.
Assassins, artillery, another pyromancer. ANYTHING to take that harbinger off the battlefield. And that’s the crux of it. What jobs are there for a pyromancer outside of violent work?”
The fire starter sat back in their seat. The Enlistment offer burning a hole in their pocket.
“Creation, my child. The joy of creation.”
The blacksmith took one of the silver tea spoon and rolled it in their hands until it was a small glowing sun. With quick practiced hands they pulled and twisted the metal into the shape of a unicorn.
“You’re set for tea yes?”
And plopped it into the iron teapot instantly bringing it to a boil.
“Now why the long face? Secret not up to snuff enough for you?”
“It’s not that. Well it’s honestly shallow. The main reason I wanted to become a pyromancer is because it’s flashy and awesome! And I like that kind of attention. Not enough to die for, but this.”
They gestured to the admittedly plain and dingy shop.
“I don’t think I’d be very joyful working as a blacksmith’s apprentice. And that’s a bit of an essential component isn’t it? Joy?”
“Hmm, something flashy and creative but not isolated or destructive. If it doesn’t exist then make it yourself.”
“Up ye get! Come on! I’ve got work to do and so do you.”
“But I don’t know WHAT to do!”
“Sure you do! Whatever brings you joy! Get creative! Make something no one has ever seen before! Have fun and don’t come back until you do!”
With that, the blacksmith shut the door on what would one day become the first ever Fireworker.
